


The Diamond Sinners

by Cunninglinguist



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Bodily Fluids, Discussions of Sobriety, Drugs, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Sexy Dancing, High Heels, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Klaus in Heels, Klaus is Extremely Flexible, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Eudora Patch/Diego Hargreeves, Pole Dancing, Pre-Canon, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Positions, Sibling Incest, Smut, Spit Kink, Stripper Klaus Hargreeves, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stuttering, Unsafe Sex, canon-typical brooding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 21:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunninglinguist/pseuds/Cunninglinguist
Summary: Another drink and a half later, he’s finally back on the right side of numb. The house lights dim and a new dancer is announced. He’s gazing across the club, eyeing the buffet with semi-tipsy hunger, thinking that it’s probably time to call it a night, when suddenly, his heart stops dead in his chest.There, onstage, rolling his lithe body sensuously against the pole like he was summoned out of one of Diego’s wet dreams, is Klaus.





	The Diamond Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> For a rollicking good time, listen to this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2irDx78HL4) while you read this...it's the song Klaus strips to, and where I got the name of the fic. Also...unbeta'd as hell, there are probably several type-os. Enjoy.

“Uh, really?” Diego lifts an eyebrow at the folder in his hands. 

“Really really.” Dora smirks. “You wanted to help? This is how you help.”

“Okay…” Diego thumbs through a veritable bounty of photos of current frequent flyers at the most high-end strip joint in town, all of whom are suspected of being key players in a drug ring. There are staff members ranging from bouncers to bartenders to, of course, the owner, and a bevy of high profile clientele who, Diego would bet with confidence, would not care for their extracurriculars to be leaked to the press. Diego sneers at a photo of the mayor’s son and the husband of a prominent diplomat, mentally listing all the rags that would pay top dollar for this level of scandal. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand these kinds of people. 

“What’s that face about? Most guys in the unit would be jumping for joy, yelling ’wow Detective Patch, you’re the best, this is the best job ever!’” Dora’s tone is teasing, but Diego can tell that she’s annoyed at his lackluster reaction to a strip club recon mission. 

“You’re right, you’re right. It’s...great.” He winces at the lack of enthusiasm in his own voice, closing the dossier with noisy sigh. “You know me Dora, I’m just not that kind of guy.”

Dora shakes her head and chuckles. “You haven’t been yet, have you?”

“Psht. I’ve been to strip clubs before, just not this particular, uh. Establishment.” There’s a level of defensiveness in his tone that Diego doesn’t really want to think about, but it probably has something to do with his highly sheltered and rather atypical upbringing. 

Dora just looks at him like he fell off the turnip truck yesterday. “Trust me, Diego. Every guy is _that_ kind of guy. Even you. You’ll see.” 

“Whatever you say. I’ll go to the fucking—“ he flips the folder open dramatically “— _Risqué Room_ tonight and try to get you something good.”

“You do that. And Diego,” calls Dora after him. “Don’t have too much fun.”

*******

It’s early on a Friday night, and the Risqué Room is already packed. Not that Diego has intimate knowledge of typical city strip club foot traffic, but he had assumed that it wouldn’t really get busy until later.

Then again, he supposes that there’s never a wrong time for live nude girls. Or boys, apparently—Diego can’t help but stare at the tall, built guy with café au lait skin who comes out onstage after the last dancer, a tiny, inhumanly flexible blonde girl with dimple piercings and a ton of tattoos. This dancer, the guy, is leaning into his masculinity, despite wearing sky-high heels and a face full of glittery makeup. Diego’s pretty impressed: this guy also really knows his way around the pole, and the crowd seems to show him just as much love as they did his perky little predecessor. 

So maybe Diego hadn’t read the dossier that closely after all, but he can’t say he’s mad about this development. At least he’d be in for an interesting night, if nothing else. 

After lurking in the back for a while, Diego takes an open seat at the bar. He’s already clocked the owner, two of the bouncers who he recognizes from the photos in the folder (see? He read the important stuff.), and a man who he knows to be a cop from a precinct on the other side of town. His reputation is less than sterling, and Diego has a gut feeling that this guy is pulling some, if not all, of the strings here.

“Woodford Reserve, neat,” says Diego to the bartender. It’s not like he’s going to get wasted or anything—he doubts his paranoia would even allow him to get properly sauced at this point—but he sure is going to enjoy a beverage or three while he sits among the stink of booze and sweat. 

The novelty of the place wears off halfway through Diego’s tumbler. Sure, the dancers are attractive, and damn do they know what they’re doing—Diego makes sure to tip frequently—but this really isn’t his kind of scene. He’d much rather be digging into a crime scene, or giving some poor jackass the business in the ring, or even throwing down with a punching bag. Hell, he’d rather be back at the Umbrella Academy--

He swallows thickly and glares at his alcohol like it’s betrayed him. This is what he gets for having a drink—misplaced nostalgia for a place that never really was his home. 

And yet it was, for better or for worse. 

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t miss them—not Dad, of course. Mom, even Pogo, sure, but mostly, he misses his siblings. More like brothers and sisters in arms than a proper family, really, bonded through shared trauma rather than biology or familial love. Oddly enough, he still considers them his best friends after all this time--no one in the world knows Diego like his siblings know Diego. 

Specifically--Diego grits his teeth--his brother Klaus.

He quickly shoots the remainder of his top shelf bourbon like it’s cheap swill, wishing it burned more on the way down. He’s worked hard to exorcise Klaus from his thoughts, using fights, his brief foray into the police academy, the gym, sometimes booze...even Dora (though he rarely admits that last bit to himself, and hates that the thought comes to him now). Of course, it’s been impossible--he still thinks about Klaus every day. 

For a time, they’d been together, as more than those raised as brothers should have been. Maybe it hadn’t been that serious, if Diego’s being faithful to actual events rather than to his own melodramatic teenage memories, but it had felt serious. To Diego, at least. On some level, he knows that Klaus had felt it too, but it hadn’t been enough--how could it have been? They were only kids. 

He’d tried his best to protect Klaus, and when he’d failed, he’d done everything to save him—from the world, from their father, but especially from himself. There’s no salvation for those who do not seek it, though, and ultimately, Diego had lost him. He still turns up here and there, either down at the station or in the hospital for an overdose (Diego had been listed as his emergency contact for a while there), but those times are becoming few and far between. Diego’s heart aches; he hasn’t seen Klaus in person in three years now. 

He tries to tell himself that it’s for the best, that Klaus has more in common with the ghosts that haunt his waking life than with any of his siblings, what with all the time he spends in his drugged out ether. He’s beyond redemption, at least until he wakes up and realizes he wants to change, to be better. And Diego just has to accept that. 

But he can’t, because as much as he tries to suppress or outwardly deny it, he can’t (and won’t) shake his deeply-rooted fantasy of being the one to swoop in and save Klaus. 

Diego orders another drink and shudders at the sad cliché he is: sitting in a seedy strip club, hunched over hard liquor, ruminating bitterly on thoughts of his lost love. A beautiful dancer with mischievous, lively green eyes saunters up and offers Diego a private dance, and for a second or five, he strongly considers it. Mustering his self-control, he shakes his head apologetically and offers her a twenty for her troubles. She pouts, murmurs _too bad_ , and moves on.

Another drink and a half later, he’s finally back on the right side of numb. The house lights dim and a new dancer is announced. He’s gazing across the club, eyeing the buffet with semi-tipsy hunger, thinking that it’s probably time to call it a night, when suddenly, his heart stops dead in his chest. 

There, onstage, rolling his lithe body sensuously against the pole like he was summoned out of one of Diego’s wet dreams, is Klaus.

Diego pinches himself. He literally reaches down and pinches the flesh of his inner arm, because there’s just no fucking way that this is actually happening. But...think of the devil, and he shall appear. 

Klaus is _right there_. 

And he looks _good._ He’s let his hair grow into a mop of tight, springy curls that Dad would just hate, and probably have Pogo shave off in the middle of the night, but holy hell does it suit him. He’s dressed in teeny, tiny black sequined shorts that cut off at just the correct spot to showcase the inviting swell of his ass. He’s got a black crop top on too, with lacing up both sides, and on his feet are what Diego ballparks to be seven inch clear heels, with an ankle strap and tiny fake red roses displayed in both the chunky platform and the heel.

Diego’s mouth is drier than it’s ever been, so he takes a swig of his drink. The bourbon doesn’t burn the sight of Klaus out from before him, no—he’s still very much there, walking around the pole like he owns it, eye fucking everyone in the audience in the process, slender hips swaying perfectly with the grimy beat of the heavy, sexy industrial song blaring over the speakers. 

Fuck—can Klaus _see_ him?! Diego shrinks down in his seat, hunching his broad shoulders in a poor attempt to eclipse as much of his face as he can in the collar of his jacket. It’s a long shot, considering that the bar is nowhere near the stage and the lights are low, but it would be just his luck. 

Klaus grips the pole and easily swings his body around, legs folding up into a beautiful shape as he circles it and lands gently on his knees. He slides smoothly onto his side and kicks his leg high, then rolls onto his stomach and slowly--achingly slowly--arches his spine and pushes his ass up and back, keeping his chest in contact with the floor as long as possible before rising up and tossing his head back, a look of open-mouthed ecstasy on his face.

Diego can’t seem to remember how to look away. Klaus writhes around like a pro, slapping his hips against the floor in time with the music, and contorting himself into what Diego would have considered to be rather creative Pilates poses, pausing every so often to shake his ass wantonly at the audience. Diego is stricken with a sudden and overpowering hatred for everyone who’s sitting stage-side. 

Diego hears himself let out a sharp gasp as Klaus inverts himself in a shoulder-stand, legs pointing straight up perfectly before he opens them into a wide V and waves them tantalizingly for a few moments. Then, the beat drops, and he kicks his legs out overhead, smacking the floor with his platforms once—another beat, he smacks them again, then he rolls over his shoulder with sinful grace, sinking into a wide-kneed, seated position with his back to the audience. He throws a seductive glance over his shoulder and brings his fingers to the hem of his crop top, and Diego throbs with desire as he watches Klaus undulate his hips and bounce his perfect ass against the floor as he slowly pulls the top over his head. 

The crowd is losing it, hooting and hollering like no one’s business as they shower the stage in bills. Men and women alike are entranced, and Diego wonders if Klaus’ powers don’t extend to hypnotism, because surely the ability to move one’s body like that is nothing short of witchcraft.

Diego wants him, possibly more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his life-- _definitely_ more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his life--and the notion hits him harder than any booze ever could. 

Klaus is seated now, pretty chest bare and glistening with sweat and body glitter, legs pulled in front of him like some faux-demure ballerina. He fan-kicks wide, flinging one leg over the other and pushing himself up on all-fours. Diego’s brain short circuits as he watches Klaus crawl back to the pole and pull himself to his feet, slow and deliberate, one hand over the other. He maintains eye contact with the audience as he wraps his legs around the pole, gorgeous muscles flexing and twisting as he climbs to the top.

As the tension builds in the music, Klaus raises a coquettish eyebrow. Diego can hear himself panting as he watches Klaus unwind his legs, loosen his grip, and drop all the way down into a split, banging his shoes against the stage. 

Diego reaches a hand out and grips the bar, just barely preventing himself from sliding out of his stool and melting onto the floor. 

Klaus isn’t done though, because Klaus is never done, and he’s leaning against the pole so it only makes contact with his ass and shoulders, his back in a perfect arch. He reaches his hands overhead and kicks up, flipping himself upside down, legs spread wide, sweat-damp curls hanging down enticingly.

Just in case _that_ wasn’t enough, Klaus reaches up and unzips one side of his booty shorts, then the other, and yanks the sparkly fabric from his body to reveal his entire killer body clad in little more than a scrap of shiny red g-string that barely covers his cock. 

Diego doesn’t really know what happens after that, only that his brain is officially out of commission. There’s a lot more writhing, tight muscle and mouth-watering jiggle in all the right spots, and Klaus gives great face, radiating pure confidence and raw sexual energy as he grits his teeth and opens his mouth and licks his lips and smiles suggestively, mimicking the expressions that Diego has seen so often in the throes of pleasure. 

And just as soon as it started, it’s over, and Klaus is winking at the audience as he crawls across the floor to scoop up his earnings. The stage-side bouncer hands him a pink drawstring bag, and Klaus shovels his massive amount of bills into it with a bit of difficulty before flouncing offstage. 

Diego is frozen at the bar, jaw on the floor, as the same brand of gritty industrial that Klaus had used for his set booms over the speakers. He’s completely forgotten why he came to the Risqué Room in the first place; every coherent, rational thought in his head is replaced by the burning desire to find Klaus and fuck the shit out of him. 

He hasn’t felt this high-strung and horny since he was a teenager.

It’s his lucky day, apparently--he doesn’t have to wait long before Klaus saunters out of the dressing room. He’s wearing a black lace bodysuit with black x’s over his nipples, and he pauses to talk/flirt with a gushing patron before turning to a bouncer and leaning close. Diego watches their hands meet in a barely perceptible exchange, and he is momentarily blinded by the animalistic jealousy that boils inside him. 

Before giving any thought to what might come next, Diego crosses the room and taps Klaus insistently on the shoulder.

Klaus turns, his performative sultry smile and half-lidded gaze slipping into genuine shock as he registers Diego before him. They stare at each other for what feels like a thousand years before Klaus finally schools his face and says, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Diego hisses, pulling Klaus by the arm and crowding him against the nearest wall. The bouncer stiffens and uncrosses his arms, eyes narrowing menacingly, but Klaus shakes his head, and he leaves them to it. 

“That was me, doing my job,” says Klaus flippantly, like Diego had walked into a restaurant and been surprised to see him waiting tables. He shakes a baggie of white powder in front of Diego before palming it and tucking it away.

Diego’s anger flares. “You’re in here selling yourself for drugs? Klaus, do you have any idea—“

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Diego dear.” Klaus pushes forceful fingers against Diego’s chest, creating space between them. “First of all, I’m not ‘selling myself for drugs,’ I’m making a fucking living. I don’t know what you think you know about sex work, or about me, considering I haven’t seen you in literal years, but I _do_ know that I finally have enough money to live comfortably on my own, and I have a boss who’s fair, a flexible schedule, and access to all the _help_ I need.” 

His full, glossy upper lip curls disdainfully. “And frankly, if you want to say another fucking word to me, you’re gonna have to pay for a private dance.”

Without missing a beat, Diego pulls his money clip out of his pocket and spits, “Fine. Let’s fucking go.”

He can’t help but feel triumphant at the second flicker of surprise that crosses Klaus’ face, like for a moment, he’d genuinely thought he could get rid of Diego that easily. Klaus might be an outrageous, stubborn pain in the ass, but Diego is even more stubborn when he wants to be. He rolls his eyes and grabs Diego by the wrist, pulling him forcefully through a little hallway and into the back. Little areas are partitioned off, hidden behind thin walls and heavy velvet curtains. Klaus shoves him into one on the end and Diego lets out an _oof_ as he collides with the couch. 

Klaus slides the curtain shut, clipping it into a hook on the opposite wall before whirling around and presenting his open hand. “Twenty American dollars per song.”

“Fine.” Diego balls up a twenty and slaps it into his palm. 

Klaus offers him a fake smile, and turns to the speakers. He puts on something with a dark, punishing beat, reminding Diego of the music he so often heard pulsing through the walls of his childhood bedroom. He makes eyes at Diego and begins to sway his hips. “So, brother mine, best get to it. You have four-ish minutes.” 

“Damn, you don’t have to actually dance, Klaus, I just want to—“

“Oh no.” Klaus climbs into his lap and straddles his hips. “You paid for a dance, you’re getting the damn dance. You see, I work for my money.”

And then Klaus’ spectacular little bum is grinding against Diego’s crotch, and everything Diego had planned on saying to him evaporates right out of his head. He grips Klaus’ hips and looks up at him. 

Klaus bites his lip. “So, why are you here?”

Oh, yeah—that! “Looking into a drug ring for— _oh,_ whoa, damn—a friend on the force.”

“A drug ring with ties to a strip club, what _ever_ is this grim, dark world coming to?” Klaus grins and reaches down between their bodies, and for one heart-stopping moment, Diego thinks he’s gonna grab his prick, but he reaches through the space between his own thighs and unsnaps the body suit at the crotch. 

“Classy,” says Diego, but his hungry eyes follow the lacy hem as Klaus slowly pulls it up and over his head, revealing expanses of pale, perfect flesh. His body is so warm in Diego’s lap, and he smells like fucking heaven, and there’s nothing Diego would rather do than bury his face in his neck and leave bruises all over that gorgeous, sweaty skin while pounding him into oblivion. 

Klaus pulls away and stands to discard his body suit, now clad only in that absurdly tiny red g-string and those shoes, and damn, don’t his legs look mag-fucking-nificent, length and shape exaggerated, Diego wants to grab those heels like joysticks and spread Klaus as wide as he can go, and…

Klaus clears his throat loudly and holds out an expectant hand. Diego stares, blinking slowly at the vision before him before he realizes that the song is over. 

“Jesus fuck.” He fishes out his money clip and pulls out five twenties to hand to his smirking brother. “Just take it and get your ass back here.”

“Now that doesn’t sound like someone who came here just to investigate a drug ring,” drawls Klaus, amusement in his voice as he parts Diego’s legs. He stands between them, back to Diego, and hinges forward at the waist. Diego swallows thickly and sits on his hands as Klaus does something, probably superhuman, to make his ass clap like a fucking video vixen. 

“It’s okay, you can touch,” murmurs Klaus as he slowly rolls up. “I know you want to. It’s been so long.”

He flips his hair and his lips part, as though in pleasure. A little bit of his sweat hits Diego in the face, and it flips a switch inside him. He grabs Klaus by the hips and pulls him down into his lap, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of Klaus’ heart beating wildly against his chest before leaning in for a bruising kiss. 

Klaus groans and throws himself into it. Possessed by desire, Diego runs greedy hands over every bit of exposed flesh he can, cupping and squeezing Klaus’ ass and grinding his hips up to rub their cocks together. 

“God, Diego, want you to fuck me.” Klaus tips his head back and sighs. “Want to ride you, right here, right now.”

And shit, Diego has never wanted anything more, every ounce of blood in his body diverting from his brain to pulse in his prick. He somehow finds the wherewithal to unlatch his lips from Klaus’ neck and murmur, “You do this with a lot of customers?”

“Only the ones I really like.” 

Diego snaps out of his haze and holds Klaus at arm’s length. “You better tell me you’re joking right the fuck now,” he says, voice low and dangerous as he digs his fingers roughly into Klaus’ skin. He relishes the brief fear in Klaus’ eyes before he replies, a little too quickly, “Ow, of course I’m fucking joking, Jesus tap-dancing Christ!”

“The stack of twenties I just handed you say otherwise.” Diego tries to give him his coldest stare, but he’s already softening, and Klaus knows this.

He leans in for a kiss, trailing a teasing hand between their heaving chests. He hums appreciatively. “God. Your body really got amazing,” he says, rubbing Diego’s abdomen.

“You’re not doin’ so bad yourself,” sighs Diego. “Where’d you learn to do all that shit, anyway?”

Klaus snickers and pops the button on Diego’s jeans. “I’m pretty good, huh.”

“Yeah, so good. Like, really good. Like you were made in a fucking factory to be a stripper. You sure that isn’t part of your powers?”

Klaus shrugs and laughs, and Diego smiles at the sound. “No, but I suppose that would have made training with dear old Dad more interesting.”

At the feeling of a slender hand snaking into his pants, Diego grabs Klaus by the wrist, hard, and their eyes meet. “Are you really gonna let me fuck you here?”

Klaus’ breath hitches at the display of force. “Hell yeah. I’d let you fuck me anywhere, you know that.”

“Oh Jesus.” Diego hooks his fingers in Klaus’ g-string and tugs urgently. “Get these off.”

Klaus stands between his thighs on wobbly legs and does as he’s told. His cock is thick and pretty, hanging heavy with arousal. 

“Bend over, like you did earlier,” commands Diego. “Grab your ankles and stay still.”

“Oh, you’re so dirty,” murmurs Klaus as he obeys. 

Diego scoots forward on the couch and rubs his hands all over Klaus’ bum, presented at eye-level like a fucking birthday gift. He’s still not entirely sure that this is anything more than a wonderfully filthy, erotic dream. 

Reality or not, Diego’s going to make the best of it. Without preamble, he buries his face in Klaus’ cheeks and licks.

A full-body shudder wracks Klaus’ body and he lets out a cry. Diego grips his flesh tightly as he circles his tight hole with the tip of his tongue, over and over until Klaus opens enough for Diego to wriggle inside him.

His groan echoes Klaus’ as he eats him out, eyes rolling back as he allows himself to be enveloped by Klaus, drowning in the taste of his flesh, the smell of his sweat, the sound of his moans. Saliva drips down his chin and onto Klaus’ tremulous thighs. He drags a forefinger through the slick mess and slides it into his hole, right before spreading him wide and plunging his tongue in alongside it.

“Oh, fuck!” Klaus cries, voice breaking. He lifts his torso slightly, hands gripping Diego’s knees. “That’s so good, oh, yes, so fucking good, god, Diego, _Diego_.”

The praise stirs something primal within Diego, and after a few more deep strokes with his finger and tongue, he pulls off with a groan. He smacks Klaus’ ass, hard, and wipes his sloppy mouth on his forearm. He leans back against the couch and gives himself a long, lazy pull, looking meaningfully from Klaus to his erection. “You want it? Here it is.”

Klaus drops to his knees between Diego’s thighs and looks up at him with big, hazy eyes before sucking Diego’s cock into his warm, wet mouth. Diego emits a punched out noise as Klaus bobs his head frantically, taking him deep into his throat, drooling hot and sloppy down his shaft until saliva drips onto his balls. He cards his fingers through luscious dark curls, groaning as he allows Klaus to suck his soul out through his dick for a few more moments before gripping tightly and yanking his head back.

He rubs the head of his cock over Klaus’ swollen bottom lip, breathing heavily as a wave of lust surges through him at the sight. He releases Klaus’ hair with a pointed look, and Klaus reaches around the couch and pulls out a bottle of lube. 

“Good boy,” says Diego as Klaus crawls into his lap and hands him the lube. Klaus’ breath is hot on his face as he coaxes him to lift his hips and slides two slick fingers easily inside of him.

Klaus lets out a beautiful _ohh_ and fists his hands in Diego’s shirt. He bucks his hips, riding his fingers for a few stunning moments before slurring, “Come on, c'mon. Just do it.”

That’s all Diego needs to hear. He lets out a hiss as he coats his prick, and as much as he wants to savor this, he doubts he’ll last. Klaus shakes like a leaf, leaking precome onto Diego’s shirt as he lowers himself slowly down onto Diego’s aching length.

The first breach is fucking heavenly, and Diego’s strongly reminded that no sexual partner will ever come close to surpassing Klaus, and he’s certifiably insane for trying to convince himself otherwise. 

Klaus moans loudly and rolls his hips. “Are you sure, mmm, oh _god,_ that fucking isn’t one of your superpowers?”

Diego thrusts up to meet him with a heated, “Ha.” 

They grind together, moans and kisses and heavy breaths passing between their lips. Diego’s teeth catch Klaus’ earlobe and Klaus cries out, clawing red scratches into Diego’s shoulders. 

“Jesus Christ, Klaus,” murmurs Diego against his ear. “You’re so g-good at this.”

“Oh.” Klaus lets out a breathy little laugh. “You think _that's_ good?” 

He shifts, raising his hips until Diego almost slides all the way out, then extends both of his legs into a perfect straddle split, using Diego’s shoulders as leverage to sit back down. 

Diego convulses at the exquisite, white-hot tightness. A broken moan flows between them, and Diego is fairly certain it came from him. Klaus is fucking dancing on his cock, undulating his hips and squeezing around him, gasping and whining into Diego’s neck as he plants wet kisses there. For a moment, Diego forgets that they’re on a matted sofa in the back of the fucking Risqué Room, where it’s too dark to see the stains, and the bass of Klaus’ music just barely overpowers the thumping of whatever they’re playing out by the stage. It doesn’t matter, because there’s nothing in the entire world that could be more important than this, the glorious feeling of being consumed entirely by Klaus and his beautiful body, their chests pressed together, Klaus’ prick rubbing wetly against Diego’s abdomen, drooling precome as Diego slides in and out of his sweet, tight hole like they were made to be together. 

“I’m gonna come inside you,” growls Diego into Klaus’ ear. He grips sweaty curls and pulls Klaus’ head back to stare into big, lust-dark eyes. “Gonna come hard, real deep inside you, so you can’t go out there and do any of those fancy little pole tricks, or grind up on some horny old fuck’s lap for a twenty, without my c-come dripping out your asshole.”

Klaus’ eyelids flutter and drool runs down his chin. “Yes, fuck yeah.”

“Yeah, you like that? The idea of walking around with me dripping onto your thighs, ruining those slutty panties, getting all over anyone who tries to touch you?” Diego swipes his thumb through the saliva and feeds it to Klaus, who sucks it eagerly into his mouth. He shifts his weight to get his legs back underneath him and rolls his body like he’s on stage, moaning around Diego’s thumb at the new angle and depth of the thrusts. 

An overwhelming, deep love for Klaus rushes through Diego, mixing with the urgency of his lust. He pulls his thumb free to cup Klaus’ flushed face. “Holy shit, Klaus. You’re perfect, you know that? You’re fucking p-p-perfect.”

With that, Klaus groans deeply, arches his back to rub the entire length of his cock against Diego’s stomach and comes everywhere, hard and long. Diego watches his face as he fucks him through it, muscles tightening as the beginnings of his orgasm creep deliciously up his spine. 

Klaus lets out a sated sigh and licks his lips, still gyrating his hips. He swipes a lazy hand through his mess. 

“Open your mouth, Diego,” he whispers, barely audible over Diego’s guttural groans. Diego parts his lips and locks eyes with Klaus as he gently pries Diego’s mouth open with his come-covered fingers. Diego accepts them eagerly, nearly losing it at the taste of Klaus. Green eyes flash wickedly, and Klaus doubles down by pursing his lips and spitting a huge globule of saliva directly into Diego’s mouth. He bats his pretty eyelashes and grins, not bothering to wipe the remaining strands of saliva from his lips as he says, “Come on, come inside me, Diego. Make me yours.”

Diego’s abdomen clenches, hard, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he succumbs to the earth-shattering orgasm that tears through his body like a tempest. His brain whites out, blood rushing in his ears and he’s coming, coming, coming, gasping out Klaus’ name.

For several moments, they stay there—Klaus, collapsed on Diego’s lap, panting hot and loud against his neck as Diego sinks into the sofa. When Klaus moves to climb off, Diego distracts him with a slow, deep kiss, plunging his tongue into his mouth and tasting him like he might not get the opportunity again.

They clean themselves up in near silence. Diego’s face flushes as he becomes acutely aware of the thumping music and lascivious cheering from the main room working their way back into his sensory input as his post-orgasmic bliss ebbs. 

“So, now what?” he asks once they’re dressed. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go back out there and dance now.”

Klaus shrugs and pulls the baggie out of his bodysuit. “That was the plan.”

“Fuck that.” At Klaus’ defensive look, Diego steps into his space and closes his hands over Klaus’. “Look. I don’t give a fuck if you strip. It’s your business, and you seem to really like it, yeah?”

Klaus nods. 

“Okay. But, I can’t have this.” He pries the baggie out from Klaus’ near-death grip. “I want you to get sober. Or at least try. There’s gonna be a big ass bust here soon, and...I don’t want you caught up in that.”

Klaus crosses his arms and glares at him, blowing a noisy breath out between his lips. “Oh, isn’t this a classic. You think you can tell me what to do because you came in for a fuck after three fucking years of radio silence, mmm, that’s rich. Still trying to be number one, huh?”

“What? No. Also, _you_ were the one who disappeared for all those years, so...” Diego cuts himself off and breathes deeply to suppress his knee-jerk anger. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I swear. But, I think it would be a really bad idea for you to keep buying from these people when they’re gonna go down. Plus, maybe you could…”

Klaus eyes him suspiciously. “I could what?”

“I don’t know, maybe you could help me out--tell me about what’s been going on here so we can bring them down together.” Diego doesn’t know where _that_ came from, but he certainly hadn’t been planning on saying it. He shrugs, deciding to own it. “We could be a team, like old times.”

“Minus all the trauma, hopefully.” Klaus scoffs and shakes his head, and Diego knows he’s won. At least for now. “Okay. Fine. Keep my damn blow. Let me get changed, cash out, and let them know I’m leaving, then we can go to yours. And just know that I’m going to be an absolute fucking nightmare tomorrow, so, buckle up, because you signed up for this.”

“Can’t say I’m looking forward to that.” Diego grins and slides the curtain open, uncaring of the mess they’d undoubtedly left in the wake of their tryst, or the mess that lies ahead of them, and lets Klaus exit first. 

Halfway down the hall, Klaus stops and turns to Diego, eyes wary. “Wait. Are you still living in that charming little boiler room, in that quaint little gym?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

Klaus wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work. We’re going to my spot.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my living arrangements, Klaus.”

“You have to physically leave the place to shower. In the _fucking gym_.” Klaus is looking at him like he’s just suggested a recreational trip to hell. “We’re going to my place, or I’m staying here and dancing on the grodiest dudes ever while you watch, helplessly, and-- _ah!”_

Diego slams Klaus against the wall and kisses him until they’re both gasping for air. “Fine,” he breathes, rubbing his nose against Klaus’. “We’ll go to your place.”

Klaus’ eyebrow shoots up and he grins. “Or we could stay and do my thing, because now I kind of want to see you all hot and bothered and jealous.”

“Get your goddamn money and let’s get out of here before I have to fuck you again to shut you up.”

“You really have to work on your threats, Diego. Besides, I was the one doing the shutting up, remember? You came in here all self-righteous like, ‘Klaus, you can’t sell your body for drugs,’ and I had to end that painful diatribe right the fuck away, and aren’t you so glad I did?”

Diego rolls his eyes and pulls Klaus down the hall. He’d show Klaus exactly who was shutting who up when they got home.

**Author's Note:**

> I just...couldn't not write this. These two are endlessly inspiring, apparently. If you enjoyed this, please drop a comment and some kudos to feed your friendly neighborhood smut peddler. 
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr dot com](http://hannibalssweaters.tumblr.com/), if you're into that kind of thing.


End file.
